


what else is there, but the love inside your heart?

by troiing



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, I Promised Myself I Wouldn't Write This, Kid Fic, Motherhood, Started as a ficlet prompt and became this monstrosity, and now look what y'all went and made me do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: Although Hecate is accustomed to caring for their daughter, she has never had to shoulder the burden entirely alone; Pippa has always been there for support, or simply as a welcome sight when Hecate stumbles sleepily back to bed.Now, alone with little Hesper for a week, Hecate thinks it might be a bit too much: that she might not be enough.





	what else is there, but the love inside your heart?

**Author's Note:**

> @queenology asked for "hicsqueak + one reacting to the other crying about something" and this spiraled out of control
> 
> the usual warnings re: discussion of Hecate's anxiety apply. lots of self-doubt. general motherhood stuff: freshly weaned kid (honestly there's so much reference to breastfeeding, it's a pivotal point, why is there so much motherhood logistics going on), tantrums, teething, etc, are to follow. Hecate and Pippa are both new to this thing and might not be the best at making decisions. rated for the tiny paragraph of sexual content towards the very end.
> 
> this fic assumes several things about witching culture, including a very easy-going outlook on working mothers (Pippa's still Headmistress, Hecate is able to take the required time away from Cackle's, except in extreme cases, to spend time with her daughter), lack of dumb stigmas surrounding breastfeeding, etc. although not explicitly stated, the Pentangle's staff definitely pitch in all over the place - it takes a coven to raise a child, after all. (Hecate's still not sure she trusts much of anybody to babysit on her watch, but Hesper does get some quality time with "Aunt Ada" and Dimity is real high-key about the kid.) Likewise, and actually more important, it assumes that homophobia isn't really a thing in witching culture, and that spells exist to allow two witches to make babies together without outside aid. Basically men are completely unnecessary and lesbianism is the opposite of an issue.
> 
> thanks to @matildaswan for betaing for me and putting up with my shit as usual. to be fair, she beta'd when this was still at 2k (me: "i think i need like 500 more words..." spoiler: i was wrong), so any wacky errors are probably mine.

By the time her second birthday comes around, Hesper has effectively weaned herself down to two nursing sessions a day. Weaning her off of the morning feeding is easy enough after that—she adjusts well, doesn't fuss much—but it's months more until Pippa finally manages to take her off of that final bedtime feeding without her cutting another tooth, or developing a cough, or simply acting as if she's been completely abandoned.

She goes a full week without nursing and Pippa starts offering to bring her to Cackle's. To Hecate.

She's only been a couple of times, as traveling by broom for several hours over the course of a weekend with an infant is far from the most convenient or enjoyable situation for any of them; Hecate can just as easily fly to Pentangle's, as she has for nearly every weekend and break since Hesper was born.

Since Hesper was around six months old—since Hecate finally developed the confidence to really step up to the task of caring for their daughter on her own—she has taken charge of caring for Hesper at night on those visits to Pentangle's; it's the least she can do, after all, to give Pippa a much needed break, a full night's sleep. Still, Hecate is apprehensive; she's never really been alone with their daughter. Part of her is eager, but a larger part worries.

Nevertheless, they discuss and they plan, and two weeks later, Pippa lands in the courtyard on a Friday evening with a sleeping toddler on her back and a bag strapped to her broom.

The girls know that Hecate has a daughter, that she has a daughter with Pippa Pentangle, and that that’s the reason their Deputy Headmistress is almost never at school on the weekends. In fact, after two and a half years it's all actually become rather old news, for the most part. They're accustomed to her grumpiness on Mondays, and to the far-off look she gets when someone mentions Pentangle's; they know not to let her see the gossip magazines they bring, as the vaguest whiff of a mention of Miss Pentangle in one will cause her to vanish it forever.

Still, Hecate's palms itch as she transfers down to the courtyard to meet them, as Pippa leans in to kiss her cheek and Hecate returns the gesture demurely.

“Well met, Pipsqueak,” Hecate murmurs. She gets Pippa's beaming smile in response, and withdraws just in time to see Hesper start to fidget at her back. “And well met, my star.”

Hesper blinks awake with a whine; it takes a few moments, but she cracks a grin just as Pippa frees her from the sling, reaching a small hand out towards Hecate with a cry of “ _Mummy!”_

Hecate scoops her into her arms, all smiles and then blushes as she catches Pippa's too-warm look, nuzzling into Hesper’s neck to hide her flush.

The storage room adjacent to Hecate's room has long since been converted into a bedroom for Hesper—they stayed here for two weeks over the last holidays (Pippa insists the Cackle's staff should feel as much a part of Hesper's life as the staff at Pentangle's, and had taken the time away from her own school without batting an eye). They set in place the charms to monitor her from the next room, and Friday and Saturday nights pass uneventfully. Sunday, too, is fine; Pippa leaves in the evening, and Hesper goes down for bed to sleep through the night.

Monday she wakes at midnight crying: takes some coaxing, but after a short while is asleep again. Tuesday morning, Hecate discovers that she's cutting another tooth, and Hesper dozes fitfully against her back during her classes, a little potion in her to dull the pain and quell the slight fever.

Tuesday night is worse; Wednesday is a disaster: she goes down for bed fine after Hecate ends the mirror call with Pippa (Hecate announces only that Hesper is teething again, and brooding on account of it), but she's awake in the early hours again and this time she doesn't go back down easily. It may well be three weeks since she's nursed, but she wails and wails into Hecate's chest, fist shoved down past the neck of her nightclothes, against her breasts. Hecate has seen this behavior with Pippa, but Hesper has never done it to her, and she doesn't know what to do other than try to get her to take a bit of milk.

Hecate doesn't bother to look at the time when she finally settles again; the sun is already rising.

She's well and truly at her wits end, but she plays it off when they mirror Pippa Thursday evening. Hesper is uncharacteristically quiet: complains a few times that she wants Pippa, but keeps calm. If Pippa suspects that there is more than teething afoot, she says nothing of it.

But the moment her face disappears from the mirror, Hesper explodes into a tantrum like nothing Hecate has seen from her usually mild-tempered daughter.

“Hesper, please,” Hecate repeats, over and over, begging the child to settle. She barely holds herself together long enough to finally, _finally_ get Hesper to sleep, closes her own door behind her, sinks into the armchair by the fire, and collapses into herself.

She isn’t enough. She can’t do this on her own—can’t do this at all. She isn’t enough. 

Once the thought takes hold, it rings and rings in her head and won't let go. She has no experience with infants, knows nothing about children younger than her students; just her own daughter, and it's obvious enough that Hecate does not know how to care for her. That Hesper wants Pippa, not Hecate, because Hecate isn’t enough.

She's a terrible mother. She's always suspected, did a fine job of convincing herself otherwise before now; but now it's obvious she's been deceiving herself.

She wallows, the desire to call Pippa waxing and waning, as the night wears on. She tells herself she can't, that Pippa deserves the rest, that she shouldn't bother her—but her need finally wins out. She speaks Pippa's name into the mirror, resolving to end the call immediately should she find her asleep; but Pippa is there, curled into the pillows with her spectacles perched on the end of her nose and a book in hand.

Her eyes flick up to the mirror at it's faint chime, and Hecate instantly regrets the decision.

“Hiccup?” Pippa asks, concern etching across her brow. She drops her book, circles around the bed to the vanity in what seems like an instant, quick as a transference spell. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Hecate lies automatically, but she chokes on a sob after.

Pippa reaches for the mirror as if to touch her. “Oh, Hiccup,” she breathes. “Darling, what is it?” At Hecate's continued silence, she asks more insistently: “Hiccup, are you okay? Is Hesper?”

“Fine,” Hecate replies, shaking her head, taking a deep breath. “Fine, it's not… It's not that. She's sleeping.”

An uncomfortable, but brief silence stretches between them before Pippa declares quite simply: “I'm coming.”

Hecate glances up, a little alarmed. “No, Pippa, don't, it's—”

“You need me, Hiccup.”

“So you're going to get on your broom and fly here in the middle of the night?”

“I was going to transfer, actually.”

Hecate groans, drops her face into her hands. “Transferring this distance would only make you ill. Please don't. Please, just.” She pauses, scuds dampness from her eyes, but then another sob shakes her. “I'm sorry I called. I shouldn't have.”

“Yes, you absolutely should have!” Pippa's voice is so emphatic, Hecate looks back up at her: sees the worry knitting her brow, the concern in her eyes. “Hiccup, how can I be here for you, to support you, if you won't tell me when something's wrong?”

Hecate stares at her for a moment. “I,” she begins, but stops herself, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Pippa softens, reaches out to brush her fingers across the mirror, where her face is—where Hecate's own face should be. “Darling,” she almost whispers, and from this distance, Hecate can see that her eyes are full. “I want so badly to hold you. If I can't do that, you have to at least tell me what's wrong.”

Hecate swallows again against the dry lump and drops her gaze. She can't bear to look at Pippa, not when she's failed so badly. “She hates me.”

“Hesper?”

“I'm a terrible mother, Pippa, I can't—I'm so sorry, I—”

“Hecate, Hesper _loves_ you. And you're an amazing mother!”

“She doesn't seem to think so.”

“Hecate, she's two, I hardly think she has opinions on your parenting skills. And if she did, she'd agree that you're doing a wonderful job. Do you have any idea how she goes on about you when you're not here? After every Friday afternoon assembly, it’s _Mummy, mummy, mummy’s coming._ She can’t get enough of you.”

Hecate tries to make herself believe the words, but fails, breathes out a sigh. She parts her lips to speak, but Pippa interrupts before she starts.

“Darling,” she says sternly, tone pleading reason. “Instead of acting so defeated, why don’t you tell me what’s actually going on?”

Swallowing heavily, Hecate chances to glance back up at Pippa through her lashes. Pippa has removed her glasses, watches Hecate with steady concern.

“She’s not sleeping,” Hecate starts, biting her lip. She details the rest of the week haltingly: the tantrums earlier in the week that she thought were related to teething, up to last night’s hours-long ordeal. “I know it’s been weeks, but she was trying to nurse? And tonight, as soon as we ended our call—I’ve never seen her act like this; she only just fell asleep a little while ago.”

She’s trembling now; presses her palms into her thighs to try to steady herself as a moment of silence passes between them.

“Oh, Hiccup. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry; this was stupid.”

Hecate’s gaze flickers upwards again, lips drawn into a tight line. Stupid. She can agree with that.

But Pippa sees where her thoughts are going, interrupts the train before it really gets started. “ _Not_ because of you, Hiccup. Just… in general.”

“I—” Hecate stalls, frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Pippa’s quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Hecate, you become anxious in new spaces. You understand that there’s nothing inherently threatening about them, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Hecate shrugs uncomfortably, but murmurs agreement.

“She’s a toddler,” Pippa continues gently, reasonably. “She doesn’t have the same rationale. How much worse must it be for her? Goddess, Hecate, children must be _made_ of anxiety. And she’s been to Cackle’s before, but never without me. She wants me because she’s used to being with me, not because she doesn’t want to be with you. And it’s _certainly_ not because she doesn't love you.” Pippa splays her fingers in an absent gesture, then shrugs helplessly. “Neither of us can deny that she’s been with me so much more. It’s just timing, Hiccup: she’s teething again for the first time since she stopped nursing, she’s in a relatively new environment, and she’s missing the biggest constant in her life so far. If it were me, I’d be uncomfortable too.”

Hecate sits silent, letting the logic of Pippa's explanation sink in.

“We should have done this over the holidays, not now,” Pippa adds softly. “This is my fault. I thought she was ready, that we all were. She wasn’t, and I’ve gone and left you to pick up the pieces.”

“No, Pippa, it’s—” But before Hecate can speak up to defend Pippa’s reasoning, to reassure her that she doesn’t think it’s Pippa’s fault, the sound of Hesper’s whimpering fills the room.

Hecate stiffens, winces in expectation of what’s to come. Can’t help cussing under her breath. 

Concern flashes in Pippa’s eyes. “Hiccup?”

“It’s fine,” Hecate responds automatically, flexing her fingers. “I haven’t been sleeping much either.”

“I know. I know; I’m sorry.”

Hecate shakes her head, can't bear to have Pippa feeling guilty on top of everything else. “Please don’t.”

Pippa's lips twitch into a mirthless smile. “Go get her, Hiccup. I’ll wait here. Just… bring her and we’ll see what happens. And if I need to, I’ll come to Cackle’s in the morning,” Pippa reasons softly.

“You shouldn’t have to do that, Pippa.”

“Who says? She’s a toddler; she doesn’t play by the same rules we do, Hiccup.” The smile widens just a fraction before she nods pointedly in the direction she knows Hecate’s door to be. “Go on. Let’s see what there is to see.”

Hecate nods resolutely. Transfers without another word. Returns a few minutes later with their daughter writhing against her chest (she has to wrestle with her a bit to do so much as free a hand to magick the door open and shut again, but manages it without too much trouble). A little cajoling later, and Hesper lifts her face away from Hecate’s chest to spot Pippa in the mirror.

“Mama!” she cries, immediately calming significantly, finally settling in Hecate’s arms.

Hecate closes her eyes, blinking back the hurt from the speed with which Pippa’s presence alone—mirror or no—manages to calm their daughter.

“Hello, darling,” Pippa murmurs, touching her fingertips to the glass again as Hesper stretches towards the mirror, whining a bit—still grumpy, but decidedly calmer—but her eyes are on Hecate, soft and gentle.

Hesper is an intelligent child—sometimes frighteningly so—with an unusually large vocabulary for her age, but it doesn’t stop her from babbling an endless string of “mama’s” senselessly at the mirror as she curls up in Hecate’s lap.

Suddenly, Hecate thinks she understands just a little better; Hesper still isn't in the most pleasant of moods, but her temper is quietened by Pippa's familiar face. By something she knows and loves and trusts implicitly. Hecate thinks she can identify with that, at least a little. It doesn't change that it hurts, but her footing is a little steadier now.

Confident that she has control over her own emotions, Hecate nods resolutely. Pippa offers the smallest of smiles and turns her attention back to the child.

Hecate watches as Pippa and Hesper enter into a long and winding negotiation that Hecate has no point of reference for. Listens to Hesper's responses, which start as mumbles and grow more confident as her mood improves; watches the flailing gestures: counting to ten, holding up two fingers, recounting how Aunt Ada gave her biscuits earlier in the day (“Ada, biscuits, yummy!”), and petting the familiars (“kitties _so soft_ ”), and how she prefers the cats to the owls kept by Pippa's students because the owls always fly away from her (“Morgy _purr_ ; owls fly! no!”).

In the end, it’s equal parts reminding Hesper how interesting and fun Cackle’s is and how good it is that she’s spending time with Hecate, and reminding her that she’ll see Pippa soon (“two more sleeps,” Pippa repeats like a mantra—a count that includes Hesper’s usual afternoon nap); she uses some of the most roundabout logic Hecate has ever heard to get there, but in the end Hesper is parroting back a respectable amount of information in two- and three-word phrases and seems to understand.

Seems to. Whether that will hold true or not is a mystery.

“Darling, I need you and your mummy to do something for me,” Pippa murmurs. “Do you think you can?”

Reclined into Hecate’s lap again, Hesper nods. “Yes,” she says simply, obviously winding down again.

Pippa smiles, wide and bright. “Wonderful,” she praises before sobering once more. “I can’t give you or your mummy hugs and kisses right now. Can you give mummy big hugs from me? And mummy will give you big hugs from me too.”

Hesper takes no convincing at all. “Okay.”

She's already pushing herself upright in Hecate's lap when she speaks; Hecate steadies her, lets her settle one foot on her thigh and the other on the chair. Holds her close when Hesper wraps her arms around Hecate's neck to hug her.

“Thank you,” Pippa murmurs. “I love you both, my darlings.”

“Love you,” Hecate and Hesper chorus back; if there’s one thing Hesper has taught Hecate, it’s to be more vocal with her affections, however difficult it may feel at times.

“Hesper, can you blow me a kiss?”

Hesper hangs around Hecate’s neck by one arm, does as she’s asked.

“Thank you. How many sleeps?”

“Two.”

“Good girl. Night-night.”

“Nigh’-nigh’.”

With that, Hesper turns around again, wraps both arms around Hecate’s neck, and gives her another hug.

Another thing Hecate has learned: her daughter usually has a very good reason for any action. And, as talkative as she is, she is usually willing to at least attempt to explain her young logic, despite her limited vocabulary.

“More hugs?” Hecate asks softly, rubbing Hesper’s back with a gentle hand.

“Yes. One Mama,” Hesper says, very gravely indeed. “One me.”

Hecate’s heart swells, her chest tightens. She glances up, and Pippa is still in the mirror, emotion clouding her face, fingers pressed to her lips. Pippa catches Hecate’s eye, and seems to realise that she isn’t really helping. She mouths _goodnight_ before disappearing from the mirror, leaving Hecate gazing at her own reflection: a little puffy-eyed with new tears threatening; she looks away quickly, nuzzles into her daughter’s shoulder, and wraps her arms all the more snugly around Hesper’s small body as she breathes in the faint lavender of her bath. She can feel the sob clawing at her throat, a headache coming on as she shudders a little, squeezing her eyes shut when a stubborn tear fights its way free.

Hesper pulls away; Hecate opens her eyes to see her daughter's frowning face.

“Mummy, no tears,” Hesper soothes in a fair imitation of the tone Pippa uses to speak the same words. She reaches up, clumsily wipes the tear off of Hecate's cheek, then reaches for Hecate's right arm.

She hasn’t yet changed into her nightclothes, hadn’t thought to when she had the chance—watches now as Hesper tugs at her sleeve, working at its edges. She waits, resolving to give Hesper a moment; besides, she's not certain she could keep her voice steady to speak if she wanted to.

A moment later, Hesper finds what she's looking for: a corner of the black handkerchief Hecate keeps tucked into her sleeve. She frees it, wobbles in Hecate's lap (Hecate steadies her with a careful hand). Lifts the handkerchief up to Hecate's face, touches her nose; says calmly: “Blow, Mummy.”

Hecate stares, bewildered. Hesper frowns a little deeper, pushes the handkerchief more insistently against Hecate's nose, repeats her command.

So much is happening, Hecate feels like she’s chasing her emotions through dense underbrush. But she understands, now, that she’s been so, _so_ wrong.

She has just enough wherewithal to take the handkerchief from Hesper’s hand and wipe her nose on it for show before wrapping her arms tight around her daughter’s body again and pulling her against her chest. “I love you,” she breathes into soft blonde hair, voice tremulous. “My star.”

“Love you, Mummy,” Hesper echoes again, voice muffled in Hecate's shoulder.

“Are you tired, little one?”

Hesper mumbles a sleepy reply, and Hecate smiles softly, can't help herself; stands, takes them both quietly out to Hesper's room to put her back to bed.

They make it a point to let Hesper sleep alone whenever possible, don't frequently have her in their bed or linger in hers, but tonight as Hecate ushers her daughter into bed with a yawn, she asks, “Can I lay with you?” and Hesper nods, blankets pulled up to her chin.

She wakes hours later in yesterday's clothes to the sound of the waking bell and Hesper's insistent “up, up, Mummy!”

Despite the late start, and despite Hecate's bone-weariness, the day goes well. Hesper is in a better mood—better still when Pippa comes soaring over the school, greets them on the roof with hugs and kisses and effusive declarations of love and how much she’s missed them both. They share the blissfully clear evening together as the sun sets; Hesper toddles about, selecting small flowers from among the grass for Hecate and Pippa, the troubles of the week forgotten. Hecate only has to transfer away once to loom threateningly over a trio of girls who only thought they were being subtle in their spying.

She’s exhausted, but she relishes the time here; folds her fingers around the flowers Hesper presses into her hand with a smile.

“You've had a hard week,” Pippa tells Hecate later, voice soft and warm and full of too much sympathy, after Hesper has been put easily to bed and after Hecate has curled up, exhausted, in her nightclothes.

“It's alright,” Hecate insists, heart beating a little harder. Even after all this time, this particular sort of softness makes her uncomfortable. Makes her feel guilty for needing it in the first place, for making anyone expend emotional energy on her. “This is supposed to be part of motherhood, isn't it? Hard weeks?”

“Yes, well. We could have planned it better,” Pippa replies, one side of her mouth curling into a sad smile. “I was so excited for you to have time with her, Hecate. I know… I know we both knew what we were signing up for, deciding to raise her this way, but I feel awful that you've had to miss so much. I know that's not what you want. And I feel even worse that it made this week so difficult. We’ve talked about it so much, I thought she understood, but… well, she’s still just a child.”

“It's alright.” She means it; she might not like it, but she is at peace with it. And she thinks they're getting somewhere now, anyway. Even if the week was hard, it's a step in the right direction.

Pippa smiles gently, leans over Hecate to kiss her: once, softly, and then again with a contented sigh, lingering a little longer; Hecate breathes Pippa’s air as the kiss changes, filling with more heat and want. Hecate moans, parts her lips for Pippa’s tongue—succumbs lazily, sleepily, to the kiss and to the warmth of Pippa’s body against her own.

Pippa withdraws just enough for a breath, eyes dark and gleaming. “Time somebody takes care of you, I think.”

Hecate's breath hitches at the glide of Pippa's hand along her thigh, her stomach, her ribs and back down again. At the way Pippa’s nose brushes against her own, at the fire Pippa always manages to awake in her belly with little more than a _look_.

“Pippa,” she breathes, bringing one hand up to Pippa’s side to stroke her hip, just to savor the feel of her.

“May I?”

Hecate bites her lip. Nods. Comes undone a short time later with Pippa’s fingers buried inside her, Pippa’s lips on her neck; Pippa’s breath hot on her skin, murmuring what a good girl Hecate is, how Hecate is _hers_. Sobs in the aftermath with Pippa’s arms wrapped around her neck and shoulders and her face buried in Pippa's chest.

And she falls asleep with Pippa spooned up against her and awakes the same, finally feeling rested, and basking in the warmth of Pippa’s body.

Rested, and content.

She can’t keep the smile off her face as she moans, stretching her limbs. Smiles a little brighter when Pippa makes a noise of protest, tightening her hold, drawing Hecate’s body back against her own.

“ _Stay,_ ” Pippa orders sleepily, nuzzling into Hecate’s shoulder. “She’s not up yet, and neither of us are leaving this bed until she makes us.”

Hecate turns over in Pippa’s arms, hums satisfaction as she burrows into the crook of Pippa’s neck, breathing her in. “I like that plan.”

Pippa laughs softly, cards her fingers through Hecate’s hair. “I thought you might.”


End file.
